


Inappropriate Comments (Or, How To Get Leonard McCoy to Punch You in the Face)

by faithfulpenelope



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6596062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithfulpenelope/pseuds/faithfulpenelope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes a lot to get McCoy to actually hit you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inappropriate Comments (Or, How To Get Leonard McCoy to Punch You in the Face)

**Author's Note:**

> Think "I didn't mean to say that the Enterprise should be hauling garbage. I meant to say that it should be hauled away AS garbage!". Except switch Scotty with Bones. And Kirk. In the Academy.

For the most part, the other cadets leave McCoy alone.

For one thing, he’s a doctor, and even the dumbest among them can reason it is not the best idea to annoy the man who may, some day, be responsible for saving your life. It helps that the quiet word around campus is that he won’t automatically report every single little incident to the brass, unlike some of the other cadets in the medical program, who seem to view ratting out their fellow cadets as part of the Hippocratic Oath. The small fights, the minor bumps and bruises, the eyebrows singed off in an errant engineering experiment: he’ll rant and rave, tell you you’re a damned idiot without the common sense the Almighty gave a billy goat, but the treatment will go in the system as minor first aid; no follow up necessary. And since a lecture and a heavy-handedly applied hypo are better than a demerit and a meeting with a disappointed advisor, most of his fellow cadets afford him a wide birth and a grateful respect.

Except every once in a while, one of them doesn’t.

It is, McCoy is not surprised to find, one of the security-track bullies, who seem to think the Academy is still an 18th century fiefdom and they’re the lords. He’s on his way out of the cadet mess when one of them appears in his path. He stops short, narrows his eyes into his standard _the hell do you want_ glare, and steps to the side.

The cadet steps with him. McCoy’s glare grows darker.

The cadet – _Hitchcock_ , his brain supplies from hours of entering patient data in the system, _third year, no allergies_ – has his arms folded across his chest and his feet planted wide, textbook _I’m in charge, and don’t you forget it_ body language that’s meant to intimidate McCoy, except Leonard McCoy has seen more shit in a single shift at the Atlanta County Hospital ER than this kid has in his life. He’d roll his eyes, if he wasn’t so annoyed.

“Can I help you?” he growls instead.

Hitchcock gives a toothy sneer. “I’m surprised to see you here all alone. Where’s your _boyfriend_ , McCoy?”

The eyebrow goes up on its own accord, and for a few seconds, McCoy is actually too flummoxed to react, because being asked where his boyfriend is – being accused of _having_ a boyfriend, actually – is not anything he could have expected.

“I thought he never let you out of his sight, his own personal nursemaid.”

Then it clicks, and McCoy can’t help the eye roll, because _of course_ this is about Jim.

Jim, who had come to his room with bruised ribs and an animated story about some third-year who had tried to sneak attack him in his self-defense class, because the guy hated that Jim, only a second year, had been hand-picked to lead demonstrations. Jim had fended him off, of course – almost broke his wrist in the process, he told McCoy with a shit-eating grin – and the guy had been already pretty thoroughly humiliated. McCoy had just sighed and patched his ribs as best he could with his hand-held regen, because that was what he did when Kirk showed up at his door. He hadn’t even thought about the cadet he’d treated that afternoon for a sprained wrist before alerting his advisor he was prohibited from participating in hand-to-hand for a week.

It had been a week. And apparently, Hitchcock felt he was overdue.

But Leonard McCoy has been insulted by a lot worse than Pete Hitchcock – his ex-wife, for one, had been particularly biting at the end – and isn’t about to get pulled into a fight by some meathead. So he ignores the personal jabs, slaps on his best _God help me, you’re an idiot_ expression, and says, “why the sudden concern with my social life, Hitchcock?”

Hitchcock puffs out his chest even more, if possible, and McCoy becomes aware that the mess had grown suspiciously quiet behind him. “I could give a shit about your social life, McCoy. But you reported me to my advisor, and now I’m a week behind in my combat sims.”

“You had a badly sprained wrist,” McCoy retorts calmly. “If I had let you keep scrappin’ with it, you would have ended up a lot more than a week behind.”

“And yet _Kirk_ was not reported to his advisor and able to keep training,” Hitchcock spits out, “despite his injuries.”

“By injuries, you mean the little bruise from when you sucker punched him because you couldn’t beat him fair?” McCoy snarks back. “You must not be as strong as you thought, Cadet, because Kirk was fine.”

There’s a murmur of surprise from the rapt crowd. Hitchcock’s nostrils flare out like a bull’s, and his face turns a spectacular shade of pink. “I’m strong enough,” he threatens. “Kirk was _hurting_ when we done sparring, trust me. Only difference is I don’t have a doctor at my beck and call to fix me up. What’s the story with you two, anyway? You like waiting on him hand and foot?”

“Seriously, what is your concern with my social life?  I’m beginning to think you have an unhealthy obsession.”

“Hey, it’s cool. I heard how you two met. I could see how a washed-up drunk would latch on to the first hand offered to him.”

It’s a low blow – the leer on Hitchcock’s face means he meant it as much – but McCoy knows what Hitchcock is poking at, and damned if he was going to give in. “Hitchcock, you really need more to do than sittin’ around all day, trying to think up these sad insults,” he says blandly, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “I mean, I know thinkin’ in general ain’t your strong suit, but really.”

Hitchcock scowls, annoyed he’s been denied his reaction, and McCoy is turning to leave when he hears, “or maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe you’re the one getting _paid_.”

McCoy knows he should keep walking, that Hitchcock is just fishing for a fight. But he hesitates instead. It’s just long enough for Hitchcock to realize he’s gotten his claws in.

“I mean, we all know that how Kirk got in, right? On his knees? Blowing Pike for the last seat on the shuttle?”

There’s a long pause.

Then McCoy thinks, _well, shit. He shouldn’t have said that_ , and snaps.

He doesn’t even realize he’s swinging, not until the sickening _crack_ of bone breaking fills the air. Hitchcock crumples, keening loudly, his hands clutching his bleeding nose, and McCoy swears loudly at the radiating pain in his hand. “You goddamn nuisance,” he hollers at the cadet’s prone form. “I have _surgery_ tomorrow, goddamnit.”

Hitchcock wails something unintelligible in return, and McCoy scoffs in his direction. A quick flex of his fingers tells him they’re not broken, just hurting, which is more than can be said for Hitchcock’s nose and orbital bone, if the immediate bruise is to be believed. “Oh for the love of -” He leans down to help him, is stopped by a metal hand on his arm. “What the hell?”

“Cadet McCoy, step away from Cadet Hitchcock.” The security bot’s drone is unmistakable, and McCoy groans.

“Oh, that’s just great. You couldn’t have gotten here a little faster? Say, when he was spoutin’ off at the mouth like a hormonal 16-year-old?”

“Cadet McCoy, I was alerted to your assault on Cadet Hitchcock. I must ask you come with me to the Dean of Students office to account for your actions.”

McCoy gestures towards the floor. “You want me to stop the bleeding first?”

The bot cants its silver head towards McCoy in a does not compute motion. “Cadet McCoy, I was alerted to your assault on Cadet Hitchcock. I must ask you come with me -”

“Yeah, yeah,” McCoy mumbles. “Just don’t say I didn’t try to help.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Captain Christopher Pike looks at him patiently. McCoy stares straight back. Pike sighs.

“Do you have anything you’d like to say, McCoy?” he asks.

“Not really,” McCoy gripes. “Sir.”

“You punched Cadet Hitchcock in the face.”

McCoy sees no use in denying it. “Yes, sir.”

“ _Hard_.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And would you care to offer up any explanation why?”

McCoy is quiet for a long moment. “Hitchcock made some inappropriate comments,” he finally decides on.

“Those comments being?”

_“We all know that how Kirk got in, right? On his knees? Blowing Pike for the last seat on the shuttle?”_

McCoy can still hear Hitchcock’s voice in his head, but damned if he was going to embarrass Jim by repeating that meathead’s slander. “I don’t remember exactly,” McCoy says instead, and Pike sighs again.

“I saw the video, McCoy. I heard what he said.”

McCoy winces, he can’t help it. Pike looks sympathetic in return.

“You have to know that’s not the first time that kind of accusation has been lobbed in Cadet Kirk’s direction.”

He knows that, he does, but it doesn’t make it right. He says as much.

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Pike agrees. “I also noticed Hitchcock made quite a few inappropriate comments towards you, but you walked away from them. It wasn’t until he attacked Kirk that you reacted.”

“Yeah, well.” McCoy looks down at the floor. “I don’t really give a crap what they say about me. But it ain’t right that they say that about Jim. Not after – it just ain’t right.”

There’s a long silence, and then Pike takes a deep breath. “As Dean of Students, I have to punish you with 20 hours community service and a month’s grounding. That means no stepping off school grounds, except for the hospital. Do you understand?”

McCoy’s brain dies a little bit at the thought of a mouth confined to campus but he knows he’s getting away light, especially since his clinic hours can stand in for community service. “Yes, sir,” he answers.

“Good. Now, what is about to come next isn’t coming from the Dean of Students to a cadet. It’s from Chris to Leonard.”

McCoy looks up in surprise. “Sir?”

“Chris.”

“Chris?” he parrots.

“That idiot Hitchcock got what he deserved. You may not care about what he said to you, but I do, and it was wrong, just as wrong as anything he said about Jim.”

McCoy swallows thickly. “I – thank you.”

“And as for Jim…” Pike comes around the desk, sits down on the edge in front of McCoy. “When I saw you two stumble off the shuttle together, I have to admit, I was a little worried. But it looks like the two of you might turn out to be exactly what you each needed.”

McCoy huffs. “God help us both then,” he says weakly, and Pike laughs.

“God help us all,” he agrees. “You know Jim better than me, Leonard, better than just about anybody out there, I’d suspect, and you know that despite the cocky attitude he needs someone in his corner. I’m just grateful he’s got you looking out for him.”

McCoy looks away, embarrassed by Pike’s words and the warm feeling they produce in his chest. “Yes, sir,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Pike takes mercy on him and gives him a slap on his shoulder.

“All right, Cadet. You’re dismissed.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Bones.”

McCoy is so deep in thought, he doesn’t even hear the door open. “ _The fuck_ , Jim. You goddamn _creeper_.”

“Bones.”

“You said that already.”

“ _Bones_.” McCoy finally looks up and sees Kirk is grinning like an idiot, and he groans. He’s heard.

“Bones, you punched someone for me.”

“Oh, for the love of God.” McCoy pinches the bridge of his nose against the oncoming headache.

“You punched _Hitchcock_ for me.”

“I punched Hitchcock because he was being a jackass. Just like I’m gonna punch you,” McCoy spits out.

“You punched Hitchcock to defend my honor, Bones.” Kirk dumps himself across Bones’s lap, and McCoy lets out a wheezy oof. “ _My honor_ , Bones.”

“I hate you,” McCoy says. “I should have let him defame you.” Kirk just laughs.

“My knight in shining armor,” he says fondly, cupping McCoy’s face in his hands. “Or rather, my knight in cadet reds.”

McCoy rolls his eyes.

“But seriously.” Kirk leans in, kisses McCoy. It’s soft and sweet and Bones can’t help but relax into Jim’s touch. “Thank you. For defending me.”

McCoy’s cheeks start to warm a little, a little embarrassment, a little something else. “What was I supposed to do?” he gripes. “Somebody needed to shut his stupid ass up. Don’t know where he thinks he gets off, saying fucked up shit like that.”

“People say it all the time, Bones,” Jim says evenly. “You have to know that.”

“Yeah, well, they ain’t gonna say it around me.” He traces Jim’s lower lip with his thumb, watches as Jim’s lips purse to kiss the rough pad. “I’ll take down anybody I hear talking shit about you, Jim. Anybody.”

Jim gave a weak smile, his blue eyes shimmering with wetness, before breathing out a soft _ah, Bones_ , and kissing him again. Bones knows Jim’s pouring everything he can’t say into the kiss and he takes it, grateful for whatever Jim will give him. When Jim pulls back his eyes are clear again and he’s got a small smirk on his face.

“Just don’t go punching too many people,” he teases. “I can’t lose my CMO before I even get a ship.”

Bones chuckles. “I’m grounded for now anyway,” he says. “A month confined to campus. You’ll have to find another wingman for a while.”

“Nah,” Kirk says immediately, wraps himself tighter around McCoy. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”


End file.
